


Ebony and Ivories

by Lady_Saddlebred



Series: Lessons They Never Taught Me [34]
Category: Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-20
Updated: 2016-12-20
Packaged: 2018-09-09 23:42:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8918215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Saddlebred/pseuds/Lady_Saddlebred
Summary: Christmas is coming around again…





	

Title: Ebony and Ivories

Author: Lady Saddlebred (cdelapin@yahoo.com)

Archive: Yes, please

Category: Qui/Obi, Alternate Reality, Romance

Rating: PG

Series: Lessons They Never Taught Me in School

 

DISCLAIMER: George Lucas owned everything, until he sold it to Disney. We own nothing, just building castles in the sand

 

 Special thanks and a very Merry Christmas to Katbear, Merrie Amelie and Helen, mes betas par excellence!

And a special EXTRA thanks to Helen for the lovely Lessons Christmas card and to Katbear for showing me how to add it in!

Previous fics in series: all on AO3 website:  
Early Admission  
Lessons They Never Taught Me in School  
Lessons That Were Never on the Syllabus  
That Which Does Not Go to School  
Rainy Day Recess  
Of Popcorn and Pine Trees  
Fit to Print  
Daffodils  
Spring Cotillion  
Is That a Lightsaber I See Before Me?  
A Pen for Your Thoughts  
When I Was Your Age  
Partners  
Mum’s the Word  
Best Laid Plans  
An Apple for Teacher  
What’s for Supper?  
Pacifier  
Snow Angels  
One Man’s Junk  
May I Have This Dance?  
Four Green Fields  
Too Darned Hot  
Pomp and Circumstances  
Summertime Blues  
Blow the Man Down  
Post-Graduate Studies  
Crossing the Pond  
Moving  
Picnic in the Park  
Family Matters  
A Meeting of the Moms

~*~*~*~

“Right in here, gentlemen. Careful, *careful* now. Mind the woodwork.”

“Yes, Professor,” replied the brawny young man obediently. “Where do you want it? Over here?”

Quinn nodded. “Yes, centered on that wall, please. Excellent. Thank you.” He handed each man a $20 bill. “Nollaig Shona Daoibh. Happy Christmas.”

“Thanks, Professor. You, too.” The front door closed behind them.

Quinn returned to the living room, nodding in satisfaction.

It was perfect.

~*~*~*~

“In here, mon ami,” Adele urged, pulling Ben toward the dinky nondescript shop. “Viens. You will see.”

Ben paused in the doorway, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the dim light after the bright winter sunshine. “Are you sure?” The place didn’t look as if it could possibly hold anything of interest, to even the most dedicated treasure hunter.

“Mais oui,” she replied, heading for the rear of the store. “Je suis certain. It was just…” She paused, considering. “Yes, over here.” They moved toward a shadowy corner. “Et voila. Is it not beautiful?”

He grinned.

It was perfect.

~*~*~*~

Quinn pulled into the garage and shut down the engine. Beside him, Ben shivered and shoved his hands deeper into his coat pockets. The short trip from St. Joseph’s had barely allowed enough time for the Jag’s heater to kick in. He was looking forward to a hot shower and a warm bed, cuddled up with his larger-than-life lover.

Christmas Eve with the orphans the year before had been spur-of-the-moment. Ben had felt sorry for a tree seller shivering in the cold on the side of the road, when he should have been home getting ready for Santa Claus. Quinn had lamented the cut trees that hadn’t been picked and had bought the guy out, with a request to transport the lot to the children’s home. The two men had abandoned their dinner plans and followed, with enough popcorn and goodies for a month-long sugar-high.

They’d spent a wonderful evening with the kids, and Ben had enthusiastically accompanied Quinn on several subsequent visits. They’d chaperoned the occasional field trip to the zoo or the local museums, and even assisted in arranging a couple of adoptions. Ben had conducted some informal computer training, and with Quinn’s backing, had even persuaded the Academy to donate some of its older equipment.

Ben loved watching Quinn interact with the little ones, who crawled all over him like puppies. They’d quickly figured out that his jacket pockets usually held candy or small toys, and he never ran out of warm hugs or horsey rides on his broad shoulders. Meanwhile, Ben would be dragged to the beat-up piano in the common room. Some of the children had surprisingly good singing voices, and there was talk of starting a choir.

This year, they’d been especially invited for Christmas Eve Mass in the late afternoon, followed by a small celebration. And there’d been lights and decorations, toys and treats aplenty. Troubled by the lack of any but the barest decorative necessities last year, Quinn and Ben had taken advantage of the after-Christmas sales to rectify the situation post haste. It had taken a bit of persuasion on Ben’s part to get Quinn to agree to artificial trees, but even he had to admit they were damned realistic, and a lot more practical.

The two men hurried inside the house, heading for the warmth of the fire. Quinn stirred up the embers and added logs, watching it flame into life. Bernini grunted approvingly from his bed next to the hearth, and Quinn scratched him behind his ears. “Hedonist,” he said teasingly, and the dog’s tail thumped the floor.

Ben checked the redwood half-barrel holding the burlap-wrapped ball of their white pine Christmas tree, and plugged in the lights. Opposed to cut trees on principle, Quinn had opted for a live specimen for the brownstone. The walled-in rear garden might not be big enough to support it, but a forever home could be found after the holidays. Maybe near the science building on the Academy grounds. The irony made him smile.

Quinn slipped an arm around Ben’s waist and they admired the eclectic collection of ornaments accumulated over two lifetimes. Father Mick’s hand-carved Nativity held a place of honor on the bookshelf next to the stone fireplace. Quinn touched the babe in the manger and sent up a prayer of thanksgiving for his childhood friend across the pond. Then he selected a long wooden match from the brass holder on the mantel and handed it to Ben.

“It’s customary for the youngest in the household to welcome the Christ Child’s coming,” he said, pointing to the thick red candle in the window. “I think you’re elected.”

Ben lit the candle, then tossed the match onto the fire. “A *red* candle? Are people going to think…?” He trailed off.

“What, that this is a house of ill repute?” Quinn asked, chuckling. “Hardly. I’ve followed the tradition every year, and no one’s come knocking yet.”

“Hmm. I guess maybe the claddagh doorknocker’s a hint,” Ben agreed.

“Brandy?” Quinn suggested, kneeling before the breakfront to retrieve the decanter. The Waterford Lismore Village on the shelf glowed in the miniature lights along the cabinet’s interior. He’d lusted after the crystal collection since its 1996 release, but had always managed to refrain from indulging. This year, the Ballymena Donovans had sent them the entire seven-building set, as a thinly veiled enticement to come back to Ireland.

Snifters in hand, they moved to the sofa, just as the lantern clock on the mantel struck midnight. “Nollaig Shona Duit,” Quinn said softly. “Happy Christmas, a rún mo chroí.” Secret of my heart.

“Nollaig Mhaith Chugat,” Ben replied, stumbling slightly over the pronunciation. “A rúnsearc.” Beloved.

“Your Irish is getting better,” Quinn observed.

“I love the way it sounds,” Ben said, leaning his head back against Quinn’s arm. “Ever since we went to Ballymena, I’ve wanted to learn more of it. It’s like music.”

Quinn smiled. “Aye, even when ye’re yellin’ at someone. It can come in handy, fallin’ back on the Irish to… *disguise* yer meanin’. One can get a wee bit graphic, all the while makin’ it sound like a compliment.” He chuckled darkly. “Or so I’ve been told.”

Ben laughed. “Now, I wonder who would warrant that kind of subterfuge?”

“Who, indeed?” Quinn said innocently.

They sipped their brandy and watched the flames. The Christmas tree and the candle in the window were the only other lights in the room.

After several cozy minutes, Ben sat up and turned to Quinn. “I have something I’d like to give to you tonight.” Quinn nodded assent. “Stay right there.”

Ben walked over to the tree, returning with a long narrow gift-wrapped box, which he handed to Quinn. “Merry Christmas.”

“Cheers, love,” Quinn murmured, studying the package as it lay across his knees. “Will it explode?”

“Not likely, no,” Ben replied, with a grin. Quinn had asked the same question when Ben had given him the framed St. Sebastian picture for Valentine’s Day. “But you never can tell.”

Quinn unwrapped the box and opened it. “Oh, my God…” he breathed. His blue eyes were huge in the firelight.

It was a thick black cane, banded in gold just below the sturdy curved handle. Simple, clean lines, clearly the work of a master. “Ben, it’s magnificent,” he breathed. “Thank you.”

Ben smiled. “Glad you like it.”

“Wherever did you get it?” Quinn asked. “It’s plainly an antique.”

“Adele found it in this hole-in-the-wall shop and called me. I took one look and knew you had to have it.” He picked it up from Quinn’s lap. “Check it out.” He unscrewed the handle from the base. Carefully tipping the staff downward, he pulled out a slender glass tube filled with amber liquid. “It’s hollow. There’re five of these babies, running the length of the base. I filled them with Jameson’s for you.”

“*Brilliant*!” Quinn exclaimed, holding the tube up to the light. “My grandfather had a cane like this. I remember seeing it on a visit to the estate while I was at Cambridge. But his wasn’t nearly as handsome.” He smirked. “And he’d have cut off his own balls before allowing it to be desecrated with *Irish* whiskey.” He carefully replaced the tube and screwed the two pieces back together. “Go raibh míle maith agat,” he said softly.

“You’re welcome,” Ben said, leaning in for a kiss. “I figured it would go good with your tux.”

Quinn nodded. “We’ll have to christen it on New Year’s Eve. Get all duded up and paint the town. What do you say?”

“Sounds like a plan, Professor.”

Quinn stood and strolled around the room, flourishing his gift. It had seemed overly tall in the shop, but fit his 6’4” frame perfectly. Man and cane clearly bonded in that moment. Ben suspected it was going to be in evidence a lot more than just on dress occasions.

Blue eyes alight with anticipation, Quinn pulled Ben to his feet. “Your turn.”

Ben was turned, not toward the tree, but in the direction of the foyer. In the shadows, he saw a comforter draped over… something… against the living room wall. He glanced at Quinn, who gestured to him to go check it out.

Ben reached for the edge of the quilt, feeling something solid underneath. It seemed too high for the Queen Anne lowboy he remembered there. “Will it explode?” he asked facetiously. Given Quinn’s field of study and quirky sense of humor, it wasn’t entirely out of the realm of possibility.

“I hope not,” Quinn replied, straight-faced. He touched the switch plate on the wall, and the table lamps behind them blazed into life. Ben blinked in the sudden brightness. “Ye’ll be wantin’ a wee bit more than firelight, I’m thinkin’,” Quinn said softly. “Go ahead.”

Ben took a deep breath and pulled the coverlet away. And stared in disbelief.

It was an upright piano. Not new, yet somehow perfectly in tune with the room. It gleamed in the lamplight, shyly beckoning him to come get better acquainted. Quinn left the room and returned with the matching bench. Ben seated himself and tentatively reached for the keyboard. The chords resonated deep in his soul, mellow and true. He felt the tears stinging behind his eyes. Quinn’s gentle smile said he understood.

“It’s beautiful,” Ben whispered. “Where-?”

“The Music Department put me onto it,” Quinn explained. “Told them I was in the market for an instrument for my home, preferably well broken in. They found this little gem. Bit of a bitch to wrap, but fits the space perfectly, don’t you think?”

“I can’t believe you did it.” Ben’s fingers drifted over the keys, learning the instrument’s personality. It already felt like an old friend.

“Why not?” Quinn asked. “Dinna I see the way ye enjoyed playin’ Mum’s when we were in Ballymena? Or at St. Joseph’s? And I’m rather fond of piano music meself. Speakin’ of which,” he walked over to the Christmas tree, returning with three flat gift-wrapped packages.

First was a Clancy Brothers and Tommy Makem songbook, the same edition Ben remembered from the Donovan home. “All right!” he chortled. “I loved this one.”

Quinn nodded. “I picked it up in that music shop in Dublin the day before we flew home. Just slipped it into me suitcase in its wrapper. Been hidin’ it ever since.”

Next was a Christmas anthology of traditional carols and more modern pieces, including Ben’s personal favorite, “Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer.” It had been a big hit at the orphanage. “This is great, babe,” he enthused. “Thanks!”

“Enjoy,” Quinn answered, with a fond smile. “And this is from Mum,” he said, handing him the last package. “She said if you’re interested in anything else to just let her know. Apparently, she has connections.”

“You always were a bit of an overachiever,” Ben teased, as he struggled with the wrappings.

Jenny’s gift was a beautiful spiral-bound edition of classical sheet music, ranging from fairly simple to more complex interpretations, with brief biographies of the composers. Her inscription on the cover page wished him a blessed and happy Christmas. Ben was pleased to see the Chopin piece she had played from memory, and resolved to learn it straight away. He grinned up at Quinn, who was clearly enjoying his success.

“I love you,” he said simply, his heart in his eyes.

“I love you, too, sir,” Quinn responded softly. “Happy Christmas.”

Ben opened the Christmas songbook to “Silent Night.” Quinn hummed along, cane tucked familiarly under his arm. The tree lights twinkled softly, as outside a gentle snow began to fall.

~end~


End file.
